


A Sky Full of Song

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Evenfall, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-it fic, Gen, POV Brienne of Tarth, POV Jaime Lannister, Slow Burn, Sparring, Tarth, Tarth!, post-8x04, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: The island offered her a bounty of green fields to run in during the spring and summer. The craggy beaches her favorite place to feel the first winds of fall before the raging storms of the winter took over, turning the sky from gray to purple to black. She would watch for lightning strikes; the crash of the waves and booming thunder carrying her off to sleep.After the Battle of King's Landing, Brienne returns to Tarth.





	1. Lady of Evenfall

**Author's Note:**

> After the way the series ended, the beginning is a bit traumatic, but it will turn out happier than the show.

The sound of her horse’s hooves echo off the walls of the city. As a child she had visited King’s Landing with her father. The bustle, heat, and noise were jarring at a young age, but she’d grown to adore the bright, bustling open air markets of the capital. Now all of that is gone. Other than the occasional whisper of wind through the streets, it’s eeriely quiet. The buildings--white, beige, and golden--bask in the sun just as they always have. Brienne half expects to round a corner and spot the entire Golden Company defending the entrance to the Keep or at least to happen upon _someone_ . Instead there is only smoking rubble and carnage every place she looks. She’d come to help. _Not for him, not for Jaime._ Her stomach roils, threatening to spill its contents, but she keeps her eyes out for anything moving in the rubble, her horse pointed towards the still standing tower of the Red Keep.

She’s close enough to the tower now that she can make out the ornate doors. A shadow passes overhead and there’s barely time to look up. A blast of heat knocks her back. Her horse bucks wildly but Brienne is able to dig her legs into its ribs enough to stay on. The top of the tower is engulfed in flames.

Slipping down off her horse, she sends him back to the gates of the city, knowing he will wait for her there, as long as the entire city doesn’t burn. In the distance, she can see the dragon circling back for another pass at the Keep, so she runs. Runs for the entrance, expecting someone to stop her, runs through the blissfully cool grand hall, the menacing iron throne at the end, and up, up into the heat, the flames, the rubble.

The floor shakes beneath her feet as the dragon attacks another part of the building. There’s blood on the floor as she enters the chambers. Piles of rubble, the ceiling crumbling. In the middle, almost like an offering: Cersei, beheaded. Her heart hammers in her chest as she flinches, looks away, eyes scanning the edges of the room as a heavy layer of dust, rock, and rubble spill from the ceiling. One of the grand columns collapsed. She can hear flames flickering somewhere above. As she is about to step away, she catches a glint of light off metal from the rubble of the column. _No, no, no_ . Her pulse thrums, her hands shake, her mouth tastes of acid and grit. She recognizes the hilt of the sword, the black hood, the leather jerkin stained with blood. _No._

She kneels beside him, gently pushing back the black hood to reveal his face. She cradles him in her arms, her hand cupping his cheek again, whispering the words she’d told him before. _Please. Stay with me. Please._

“Stay where you are.” A voice echoes across the marble, the rubble. Brienne, tears in her eyes, turns to find Arya and the Hound, weapons drawn.

She doesn’t remember much after that. They get her out of the Keep, take her to safety, where the few remaining Northmen and Unsullied are camped. Pod, who rode with her all the way to the Riverlands, is there. He tries to get her to eat, but all she wants to do is sleep. Sleep so she can dream of him.

After a few days, they travel to Dragonstone. King’s Landing now in ruins, Dany is putting together an alliance of the Seven Kingdoms. She will rule from her family home, along with her partners in the seven corners of the realm. Sansa is there, but it’s the sight of Tyrion which brings her to tears. He simply slips his small hand into hers, nodding sadly. That night, he comes to her room, and she finds she can speak of it, suddenly. What she saw, what she found.

“He loved you,” Tyrion tells her gently. He must see her about to object, because he pushes forth. “Despite what he may have told you, he did. I’d never seen him as happy as he was at Winterfell. It was because of you.” Brienne nods, unable to speak. “Maybe one day you will tell me about your journey with him. When he was a prisoner of Catelyn Stark.”

 _I hated him_ , she thinks. _But I loved him then, too._

She thought it would help to throw herself back into work. There are countless meetings and councils outlining the new structure of power. Physically she’s present, but emotionally she’s numb. When Pod asks her if she’s planning to come back North, she snaps, taking her anger, her grief out on him. 

Tyrion is named as Hand of the Realm. He will travel around the Seven Kingdoms, reinforcing the alliance between the seven sects and every small town in between. The only remaining Lannister, he is given Casterly Rock.

Sansa is preparing to return to the North. “My lady, when are we due to leave?”

The young woman looks up at her and smiles softly. “You swore an oath to my mother long ago to protect me and my sister. You have more than fulfilled your duty. We think of you as family, but I was wondering if you might consider returning to _your_ family. That is, your family’s homeland, Tarth. We need someone we can trust on the Eastern shores who will protect the realm.”

“I--Winterfell is my home, my lady.” She has been so caught up in her grief and does not feel she has the strength to weather another change so soon.

“I’m honored that you consider it so, Ser Brienne, but I beg you to consider my offer. I will speak with you on the morrow.”

She stays up all night, wondering if she can find the words to tell Sansa she never wishes to return to Tarth. Lady Sansa has always been loyal to her house, to her family. She will never understand her reasoning. But Brienne does try.

“I left Tarth because I wanted to be a knight. My father never thought it was suitable for his only daughter. He set up three betrothals, all of which failed as soon as they set their sights on me. So I left.” Brienne’s voice catches in her throat. She had loved her father, despite all of it. “I came here because I wanted to learn how to fight. I long ago lost my connection to Tarth, Lady Sansa, and I confess I do not see what good it would do me to return now. I would want to be there even less than they would want to have me, I am sure of it.”

But as she predicted, Sansa somehow hears none of her words, and insists she return to the halls of Evenfall. “Tarth will welcome you, Ser. The isle has floundered through the wars, but I have no doubt you can set it right. In a year’s time, if you do not feel the same, then you may return to my service at Winterfell if that is your wish.”

“As you command, my lady. I will return to the Stormlands.”

“Good. Send me a raven when you arrive.” Sansa pauses before stepping forward to wrap her arms around Brienne’s broad shoulders. “Thank you for everything. I hope you find happiness in your home as I have in mine.”

She’s so startled by the sudden affection, she barely has time to whisper, “You’re welcome”, before Lady Sansa mounts her horse and is riding north alongside her sister.

*

Pod offers to accompany her to Tarth. He must be tired of serving her, but whenever she asks him about his plans for the future, he seems content traveling with her. Without the familiarity of Winterfell, she’s grateful for his reassuring presence. A trusted voice among all the uncertainty she faces.

As a young girl, Brienne spent most of her time exploring the Tarth or learning how to fight. The island offered her a bounty of green fields to run in during the spring and summer. The craggy beaches her favorite place to feel the first winds of fall before the raging storms of the winter took over, turning the sky from gray to purple to black. She would watch for lightning strikes, the crash of the waves and booming thunder carrying her off to sleep. But as a female heir, her father never taught her much about what it took to run and defend Tarth, but her years of service at Winterfell filled in some of the gaps.

Much like Sansa foresaw, the residents of Tarth are glad to have a leader once again. Brienne suspects they view her with skepticism, but they are gracious and grateful all the same. She quickly learns the farmers, sailors, and other smallfolk who inhabit the island are much more knowledgeable about their needs than the few highborn Stormlanders who remain.

Upon her arrival, she finds Evenfall in disrepair, so her first act is to hire local people to help restore the hall to its previous glory. In her years traveling Westeros, she’s barely touched the money her father left her, so using it to make Evenfall inhabitable once again feels like a small blessing from him. Being back on the island dregs up many memories from her childhood and while not all of them are happy, Brienne is grateful to have them. In a strange way, thinking about her father is a welcome distraction to thinking about Jaime. Although he used to tease her about being heir to Tarth, the Evenstar, she doesn’t associate the island with him.

Brienne made her own home at Winterfell, but knows if she had returned there with Lady Sansa, so many things would have reminded her of Jaime. It was where he had given her the one thing she’d wanted all her life: to be a knight. It was where they had fought beside each other. It was where they had finally admitted their feelings for each other. It was where they had those few weeks of happiness.

But here, in Tarth, she finds hours, days, and weeks passing where Jaime is no longer her first thought when she wakes in the mornings or her last thought before she goes to sleep at night. Her thoughts become about her people, about the island, and about the relationships she’s built elsewhere in the realm. Between herself and Gendry, the new Lord of Storm’s End, the Stormlands have a greater connection to the North than they ever have. Tyrion writes, planning a visit, and offering her money. _I may no longer be Master of Coin, but I have access to the realm’s purse strings._

With summer returning to Westeros, Brienne spends most of her days outside. While Evenfall is under repair, she and Pod take rooms at a local inn near the shore. Her mornings are usually spent at the docks, talking to sailors, both those who are traveling through Tarth and those who are based there. If she has no urgent or pressing matters, she will travel up the cliffs to monitor the progress at Evenfall. In the afternoons, she meets with the small contingent of men who have volunteered to be Tarth’s knights. Normally these men would learn how to defend the Lady of Tarth, but everyone knows she is capable of fighting for herself. It’s here she feels most in her element, teaching these young men sword work, as well as how to throw a punch. The evenings are spent riding across Tarth’s beaches, fields, or forests. Brienne both had and had not forgotten the natural beauty of her home. If she was not heir to Evenfall, she would be perfectly happy camping in the island’s fields or on its beaches and sleeping under the stars.

As content as she may be, she’s not happy, not exactly. Some days, as she looks out from the cliffs, there’s an overwhelming sense of loneliness. She is home, but feels more isolated than ever. Despite her penchant for being alone, her recent service at Winterfell taught her the importance of a supportive community. When her heart feels hollow, she tries to convince herself it is the feeling of camaraderie she’s missing. Even so, Brienne knows it will come. _Time heals._

When Evenfall nears readiness, a ship arrives loaded with various supplies which Brienne had sought out in order for the hall to be suitable for living, as well as welcoming to its citizens. There are large stores of food, clothing, and a few carefully selected pieces of furniture. Pod directs the men up the long, winding path from the docks to where Evenfall stands atop its cliff.

She moves from room to room, deciding what to put where, and hoping she hasn’t forgotten anything essential. Climbing the stairs, she finds four men struggling through the door of her bedchamber with a long wooden board. “What’s this?”

“A bed, my lady,” one of them replies. “One piece of it. The others are being carried up and we’ll put it together.”

Brienne’s brow furrows. “I didn’t order a bed.”

“Are you sure, my lady?”

“Quite sure.”

“I’ll check the order, my lady.” 

The wood is dark and when the light catches it, there’s a dappling of red in its grooves and veins. “It’s beautiful,” she tells them. The four men nod and leave to retrieve the rest.

“It’s a delivery from Lord Tyrion,” the man says when he returns. “Long bed. Special for you. See?” He offers her the ship’s supply log and she finds the line in the ledger. Sure enough, next to the listing for the bed is a signature. _T Lannister_ . She squints and her heart quickens. Except the T looks very much like a J. _It’s Tyrion’s handwriting_ , she berates herself. _Not his._ She has no letters from Jaime. Wouldn’t know what his writing looks like, nor his signature.

The bed even comes with a feathered mattress, probably one so expensive she would never consider it for herself. It’s been a long day and her body aches. She wishes to do nothing more than pile herself into her new bed and close her eyes. When she’s finally able to do so, she dreams of him.

They are surrounded by greenery. Sun shining, the two of them riding on horseback side by side. It’s her Jaime, a little grayed, a little wizened, scruff stretching across his jaw and cheeks, the crow’s feet at his eyes crinkling up when he smiles. Except this Jaime has two hands. He smiles at her, his armor glinting in the sun. She glances down, her cheeks ablaze, and notices she’s wearing a dress. Sliding a hand down from the horse’s reins, her fingers fumble with the fabric, the silk cool and slick in her hands. She tries to look over at him, but the fabric is choking her, wrapping tight around her neck.

She wakes, a scream in her throat. Dutifully, Pod knocks on her door a moment later. “Are you all right, my lady?”

Brienne winces. Everyone here calls her ‘my lady’. She’s never been much of a lady. _Arise, Ser Brienne._ She bites down on her tongue. “I’m fine,” she calls. “Go back to sleep.”

But despite her comfortable new bed, she’s unable to close her eyes again that night. As daylight draws near, she dresses and leaves the hall, taking a long walk around the grounds and straying as far as the edge of the forest.

She takes breakfast in her room, not exactly comfortable with the idea of sitting at the long dining table all on her own. As she draws near the end of her meal, Pod knocks softly on her door. “My lady, I beg your pardon, but Milos says there is someone downstairs asking about your ship’s delivery.”

“What about it? We checked the lists twice. I received everything.” She glances behind her at the careful craftsmanship of the bed.

“Yes. Milos only said the man was very insistent. Perhaps you best find out yourself.” 

“All right.” She takes a last sip of tea and goes downstairs. There’s a man standing in the entryway, dressed in a shipman’s clothes, staring at one of the murals there. She can only see his back and he doesn’t turn towards her as she approaches. The hairs stand up on her arms and Brienne wishes she had brought her sword. “May I help you?” She stays where she is on the steps, hoping her towering presence will be made even more intimidating by her perch.

The man continues focusing on the mural as he speaks. “Ah, yes,” the voice is husky, tinged with an accent of some kind. “The Lady of Evenfall left behind one item on yesterday’s ship.”

“What was it? I collected everything-” The man finally turns towards her and she needs only to see his profile before dropping to her knees on the steps. " _Jaime_?”


	2. No Golden Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s no longer a golden lion. His hair is darkened, cropped short, and clean shaven. Long gone are the crimson and gold to identify him as a Lannister, his clothes are plain and threadbare. His right hand is no longer golden. Instead he wears a plain wooden one in its place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my take on what happened at King's Landing is understandable. I didn't want to spend too much time on it, but I didn't want to gloss over it either.

He’s no longer a golden lion. His hair is darkened, cropped short, and clean shaven. Long gone are the crimson and gold to identify him as a Lannister, now his clothes are plain and threadbare. His right hand is no longer golden. Instead he wears a plain wooden one in its place. He’s sheepish, his eyes only settling on her briefly before continuing to travel around the room. He’d done the same the night he came to her room at Winterfell. Could barely look her in the eye, talking about anything else other than the reason why he was there. It had taken her a long time to realize he was nervous, scared even. Does he feel the same way now? Scared she won’t want to see him, scared she’ll send him away. She keeps staring at him, convinced she’s dreaming, convinced it’s not really him. It couldn’t be. But then he does a little shrug and there’s the sharp wryness of his smile, the glimmer in his eyes, and she knows. _Knows_. Her body hums with desire, impatience, a deep need to feel his touch, to acknowledge he’s alive.

Legs shaking, she tries to stand, but stumbles as she rises. Jaime is light on his feet, rushing up the stairs to catch her. His hand is warm on her arm and she’s close enough to see the green in his eyes. She worries her lip, searching for the right words to say, but her own eyes are blinking away tears. “Oh,” the noise in her own throat surprises her. Her arms go around his shoulders without thinking. She has to hold him close, has to hear the hammering beats of his heart against her own rib cage, has to let the warmth from his body seep into hers. It’s so different from when she held him in King’s Landing. The warmth fading. Limp and heavy in her arms. “I thought you were dead,” she whispers.

“I believe I was. For a moment.” His voice soft in her ear is the same one she’s been imagining, the same one she’s been hearing in her dreams. It makes her draw back, her hands clutching his shoulders tighter, and tries to assure herself he’s flesh and bone and standing before her.

“You’re not a dream?”

He pats his chest with his good hand. “No. Solid as far as I can tell. Maybe you should pinch me.” His tone is teasing, but Brienne doesn’t say anything, the mix of emotions making her feel faint. She’s cried enough over him and she won’t let herself do it again. Jaime’s face softens, his eyes grow serious. “Did you dream of me, my lady?”

“I’m no lady,” she replies stubbornly.

“Should I call you Lord of Evenfall, then?” It’s a jape, but Brienne feels her heart hardening. He cannot simply show up here, on her shores, and assume everything to be forgiven. To tease and mock her, only to expect her to throw herself at him, as if it hadn’t taken years for her to trust him, only for him to shatter that trust.

She knows Pod is lurking somewhere nearby and calls for him, trying to ignore the hurt passing across Jaime’s face. “See to it that the lord of Lannister gets settled in his chambers.”

Pod appears at the top of the staircase, frowning. “Lord Tyrion is here?”

“No, Lord Jaime.” Her voice is cold as it echoes in the stairwell. She passes Pod where he stands frozen in shock.

“Pod, it’s good to see you.” There’s exhaustion in his voice, but Brienne continues her path up the staircase, returning to her chambers to get ready for the day.

She doesn’t see him again until that evening when she finally returns to Evenfall. He’s somehow found her favorite room in the house: the library has magnificent windows which look out over the cliffs. If the day is clear enough, sometimes you can make out the glimmer of Storm’s End in the distance. He sits in front of the large fireplace, a wine glass on a nearby table, but turns when he hears her approach. “Pod and I weren’t sure what time you were planning to return, so we had a quick meal for ourselves.”

Pod was a squire to the Lannisters for almost as long as he had been to her. She tries not to flinch at the image of the two of them sharing a meal. Pod would be able to tell Jaime everything he might want to know. What she said after he left Winterfell, when she’d gone to King’s Landing, and how she had mourned him.

“Please, join me.” he gestures to the other chair. She would rather go up to her bedchamber, but it feels rude to refuse him, so she sits, but doesn’t take the wine he pours for her. Jaime shrugs, pouring another glass for himself. “Perhaps if you have time tomorrow, someone might show me a bit of Tarth? I’d love to see it.”

“Of course. I can get Pod to find you a suitable horse, I’m sure, and there are lots of good trails for riding.”

“No, I meant…” His eyes connect with hers for a moment before shifting his gaze back to the fire. “I’d like you to show me.”

“I-I’m not sure if I’ll have time. I have training tomorrow.”

“ _Training_? Surely you don’t need to brush up on your swordwork, ser.”

Brienne ignores the ‘ser’. She was happy with the title once, but after he left, she wondered why he’d done it. “It’s not for me. I’m training others how to fight. A volunteer defense, of sorts.” Jaime smiles, but doesn’t say anything. There’s the familiar blush in her cheeks, climbing up her neck. “What? Are you _laughing_?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all. I was...you must love it, that’s all. I’m sure they’ve already learned a lot.”

It was one of her favorite parts of being Lady of Evenfall, but he didn’t need to know that. “Were you really laughing about Tarth needing a defense? Simply because we’re an island doesn’t mean we-”

“I wasn’t laughing,” he interrupts. “But aren’t we supposed to be at peace with one another? The alliance of the Seven Kingdoms.” There’s a sarcastic tone in his voice and it reminds her of the Jaime from before. The one who should have been heir to Casterly Rock, but who had no interest in politics.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can spot Pod standing in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt. He enters, setting down a plate with fruit, cheese, and meat. She’s not particularly hungry, but nods her thanks at Pod, who disappears again. For a moment she watches as the light plays across Jaime’s face as he stares into the fire. “What happened?”

He pours them both a glass of wine. This time she accepts hers gratefully. Jaime looks uncertain and out of the corner of her eye, she can see his gaze traveling the length of her. “Do you really want to hear this?”

Brienne’s mouth draws into a thin, firm line. “Yes,” she nods finally. “I thought you were dead.”

“There’s a series of tunnels under the Keep. I used them years ago to free Tyrion. I thought maybe they would have been walled off, but they weren’t.” She notices how he doesn’t mention Cersei by name. _Cersei should have walled off the tunnels_. “On my way in, I stumbled across a body. It was Qyburn-”

“The one who gave you your golden hand?”

His eyes darken. “Yes, but if you only knew what he’s done. He likes to experiment. The Mountain, he should have never lived through his trial by combat with Oberyn Martell, but Qyburn worked on him…” He trails off, glancing towards her to see if she understands. Brienne nods.

“You found Qyburn.”

“Yes. Only I didn’t know it was him. He had no face.”

She almost chokes on her wine and sets the glass back down forcefully. “Jaime Lannister! You may be a liar, but I’ve never known you to be a myth maker.”

“Arya Stark-” he starts, then stops, unsure how to explain. “It doesn’t matter. Just listen. By the time I got upstairs, the Cleganes were at each other’s throats. My sister, she was arguing with Euron, and then they saw me.” He shakes his head. “She was planning to set fire to everything. Like Aerys before her.” His voice quivers and he stops talking for a long moment. Taking a sip of his wine, he clears his throat before continuing. “I couldn’t reason with her. Euron began defending her and I had no choice but to fight him. He wounded me, but I killed him. Drove my sword through his throat.” He stammers to a stop. “Before, there was always a reason for death. To defend your family, your house, your honor, your life, but with this....” He sounds uncertain and the look in his eyes is distant. She remembers what he told her years before, about going far away inside.  “No reason. It was...I saw everything for what it was. And by the time I looked up, Qyburn had emerged from the shadows and had a knife to my sister’s throat.”

“Arya?”

Jaime nods. “She tried to explain, but I couldn’t comprehend her. I was lost. I was so lost in that moment. I prayed,” he laughs bitterly. “I haven’t prayed since my mother was alive, but I prayed. For some clarity. A sign.” He drinks the last of his wine. “Then the dragon came. The walls started to crumble. I thought I was going to die. I _wanted_ to die.” He falls quiet, his gaze focused on the fire, unable to even glance over at her. Without a word, he gets up and walks towards the library’s wall of windows. “But I didn’t. The Keep was on fire when I woke. I crawled out. Hid in the tunnels for what felt like days. I wandered out to Flea Bottom, tried to stay anonymous, before I could steal a horse and ride out to Casterly Rock.”

Brienne’s throat is thick. She’s barely touched any of the food Pod left, much less her wine. “So Tyrion knew?”

Jaime’s back is to her still, as he stares out into the darkness. “No,” he shakes his head. “He was still at Dragonstone. I tried not to call attention to myself. The Rock is his. When I heard Sansa was safe, I rode North, to apologize. But the lady has no reason to trust me. I only stayed for as long as I could without raising suspicion. From there I rode south to the Saltpans and bribed a boat to take me on as a merchant.”

 _But why did you want to come here?_ Her whole body is pulsing with the question, but doesn’t ask. There’s little she’s sure of about the man standing before her, but of one thing she’s certain: she’s not prepared to know _why_ he came to Tarth. “I was with your brother at Dragonstone.”

He turns from the window, his eyes widening. “Why? You promised to stay far from King’s Landing.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” She protests.

“It was dangerous!”

He’s never raised his voice with her and Brienne grips the chair’s arms at the force of it. “Jaime, I found you!”

He goes quiet. Brienne thinks she’s rendered him speechless, but even at a distance, she can see his mouth trembling. “What are you talking about?”

“I wanted to help. I came to the Keep and the dragon…” she trails off, frustrated because she’s unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. She turns her body to look at the fire and finds strength again. “The tower was already burning. Cersei was dead. You...I barely saw you. You were under the rubble.” Her throat is thick and her face is hot from the fire and the wine. She closes her eyes and the room reels. Shifting forward in the chair, she puts her elbows on her knees, head spinning. Her eyes glance over at him, standing stockstill, his mouth moving like a fish. “It’s late. I should go to bed.”

Jaime only manages a nod. As Brienne reaches the doorway, she thinks there’s a faint whisper behind her. _I’m sorry._

By then, her head is pounding and her hands are shaking, so she doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t acknowledge anything as she continues up the stairs to her bedroom, barely managing to undress before falling into the comfort of her new bed.

*

He hadn’t known. _Jaime, I found you._ It rung in his ears for hours, until the fire in the hearth died, until he walked stiltedly to his room. She had come to King’s Landing. He should have known nothing he said would be enough to stop her. There was no one more stubborn.

If he’d known, he wouldn’t have told her the story so easily. _I thought you were dead._ Her words from that morning sounded different to him now. What had he said? _I thought I was. For a moment._ It had been longer than a moment. For many weeks after, he felt like dying. Even when he thought of her, especially when he thought of her. He didn’t deserve her.

Flea Bottom was ravaged by the war, but the people had no place to go. They also had no food. So they stayed, he amongst them, and they starved. He’d eaten rat, just to taste flesh again. Once, when he was very young and just learning to hunt and fight, his father had gone away to King’s Landing. Even then, Jaime knew he was responsible for his mother and Cersei when his father was gone and part of that responsibility was to provide food and safety. He’d gone out the woods all day, intent on bringing home a rabbit. By the time he returned, dusk had fallen, and his mother and Cersei were sitting down to the table. Jaime was confused. The food he was providing was in his arms, but there was already food on the table. Cersei had laughed at his stupidity but his mother had smiled, saying he had carried out his duty nobly. _If you can hunt, you can keep your family alive_ , she told him. _Even if all that is available are snakes and rats_. It had been Joanna he thought of as he struggled to stay alive in Flea Bottom, but it’s been Brienne he thought of since.


	3. I Dreamed (of Tarth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he lay there in the Keep, dying, he thought of her. If he could make his way back to her, he would sacrifice everything to get her to trust him again. To love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use book character names which were not used in the show. Vargo Hoath (book) is the man who orders Jaime’s hand to be chopped off. On the show, he's named Locke. 
> 
> Jaime's dream inspired by his weirwood dream in ASoS.
> 
> I'll be gone for a couple weeks, so no updates, but am hard at work on a Brienne chapter. Thanks for reading!

The next morning, he comes across her in the dining hall, surrounded by the remnants of her breakfast and a stack of leather bound ledgers. It seems nearly every room in Evenfall Hall has wide windows and stunning views either of the surrounding coast, the green rolling hills, or the misty darkness of the forest. The light here is different than anywhere else in Westeros, gentle and soft. It makes everything look beautiful. Jaime studies how shafts of sunlight reflect across the wooden table, catch in the yellow straw of Brienne’s hair, and brighten the blue of her eyes as she looks up at him.

A brief frown flickers across her face before she gives him a curt nod. “Good morning, my lady,” he says politely, taking a chair across from her.

Almost as soon as he sits, she rises. “I’ve arranged for Pod to have you meet me after training. He’ll take you to the stables for a horse and find anything else you require while I’m gone.” Jaime notices she doesn’t dress as a highborn lord or lady might with the finest silks or leather. She’s wearing dark breeches and a simple shirt, dyed in an unusual aqua, a mix between a blue and green, which makes the color of her eyes stand out even more.

He watches her go, wondering if he’ll ever be able to explain why he left her at Winterfell. As easy as it’s always been to make a snide remark, any emotional honesty was wrung out of him long ago, perhaps the same moment he stuck his sword in Aerys’ back. Brienne didn’t trust easily, but the few she did, she stood by steadfastly, honorably, even lovingly. And he had thrown it all away to return to King’s Landing.

He knew Cersei would not see reason. She would stop at nothing. Not until all the dragons were gone from the sky, not until her family was safe. But he hadn’t gone there to save her or to die with her. He’d gone to destroy her. She destroyed so many lives of her own, starting long ago, with their family. She poured her hatred for Tyrion into their father, into him. She created her twin in her image and used him like a pawn. She sent her children to their deaths with her hatefulness and lies.

But he couldn’t tell Brienne any of it. If he told her he was going to kill his sister, she would try to talk him out of it. When he couldn’t be persuaded, she would insist she go with him. He wasn’t about to lead both of them into a trap. Cersei might have been unfeeling, but she saw right through him, always had. She wouldn’t hesitate to use Brienne as a pawn, to torture and kill her, to take the one life Jaime cared about more than his own.

He wouldn’t let that happen, but he wouldn’t let thousands die at the hands of his sister while he sat idly by, either. So he lied.

 _I love you_ , he wanted to say. _But I have to do this. I’m sorry._ Instead he stood there, his hand covering her own, his thumb stroking her knuckles, as he bit his tongue in order to hold back his tears. As he climbed on his horse, his resolve wavered. The only thing he knew was Brienne was strong enough to survive.

As he lay there in the Keep, dying, he thought of her. If he could make his way back to her, he would sacrifice everything to get her to trust him again. To love him.

He went to Casterly Rock to say goodbye. To whisper words to his mother, lay a hand over his father. To swear off his family name. Tyrion would always be his brother, but none of this was his. Never would be. Jaime left him a letter. _All of this is yours. I wish you a long life of happiness. I made a promise to someone long ago and I intend to keep that promise, even if it takes me the rest of my life._

He burned his golden hand and the next day he rode north. To his surprise, Sansa didn’t order one of her men to shoot him with an arrow upon approach. But she greeted him coldly, accompanied by a thin-lipped simpering smile. “She’s not here, you know,” she says almost as soon as they sit down. Jaime isn’t sure what he expected to find at Winterfell, but it certainly wasn’t this news.

“Where?”

“Tarth. And you should stay well away.” Her blue eyes watch him carefully. She’s a grown woman now, not the child his brother married.

“My lady, I came here to apologize. Not only to Brienne-”

“Ser Brienne,” Sansa corrects, as if Jaime isn’t the one who knighted her. It feels so long ago. Another lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply. “You were kind enough to take me on for the battle, to let me stay here afterwards, and I betrayed your trust. I know it’s too late, but I wanted to apologize. I await your justice, my lady.”

Sansa studies him for a long time. Her eyes narrow and there’s a look of the same loathing her mother reserved for him. They’re much alike. The Catelyn he knew was less Tully, more she-wolf. Fiercely loyal to her home and family. “I don’t think it wise to keep the Kingslayer in Winterfell. The Queen may have fallen and our kingdom may be at peace, but the North still has no love for your family.”

 _Even though my brother is your husband_ , _even though I’ve sworn off my name_ , he thinks. “I understand, my lady. Forgive me, but the hour is late and I will not begin to travel south until tomorrow, so if I may camp near your weirwood, that will be all I will trouble you with today.”

She hesitates. “Don’t be silly. We have room.” She stands, indicating their conversation is over. “It’s Ser Brienne’s old chamber. I trust you remember where it is,” she says snidely. _Well played, Lady Stark_.

He hadn’t felt much of anything since leaving Winterfell. He isn’t sure there’s anything left to feel. He’s wrong. As soon as he enters her chambers, the smell overpowers him. It’s not flowery or ladylike, but an earthy, musky, heady scent that makes his knees go weak. Makes him remember the words he whispered in her ear, all of them true. _You are mine and only mine_.

The way she stilled under his touch sometimes. Eyes searching, as if asking if he was sure. Jaime began to know the unspoken questions in her eyes. _Are you sure you want me?_ He’s never been as sure about anything else in his life.

He tosses and turns as he breathes in her fading scent. Finally, he closes his eyes and dreams of her. 

Everywhere he looks are the red stone walls of the Keep. A stairwell leading him down, down, down. _Up, not down. Why am I going down?_ When he finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, there’s nothing but darkness. He reaches for his sword, but it is gone. Footsteps echo closer. His muscles tense as he squints into the black. “Who’s there?” To his relief, Brienne emerges out of the darkness, clutching Oathkeeper. Her eyes focus past him and he whirls around, expecting to see something emerge. But there’s nothing. “Brienne?” When he turns back, she’s gone, as if he only imagined her. “Brienne!?”

Out of the darkness, there’s a low, deep scream which makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He recognizes it. “ _Brienne_?” 

“I swore an oath!” she cries, loudly sobbing, in pain. “An oath to keep him safe!”

Jaime looks around frantically for a source of light. The long stairwell was lined with torches, but where is it? He grasps around in the dark.

“Jaime,” her voice is softer now, pleading. “Jaime, please.” His foot collides with something and he reaches into the darkness, his hand grasping around the hilt of a sword.

“Where are you?” he asks, his voice echoing in the vast darkness. “Get behind me.”

“We all swore oaths,” another voice whispers. Jaime’s heart hammering in his chest, he wakes, sweating, even though the fire is near dying. He sits up, tossing the furs aside on the bed, and checks to make sure his sword is in its scabbard at his bedside. The red jewel near its hilt glitters in the firelight. He always thought its sister was the more handsome sword. Oathkeeper. _I swore an oath. An oath to keep him safe_.

He unsheathes the sword, laying it on the bed beside him, fingers fluttering over the hilt. It needs a better name. It’s one half of a whole, like they were once, briefly. _Oathbreaker_.

They both swore oaths to Catelyn. Brienne kept hers. He had not. Except he was sitting in Catelyn’s home, now, the place he fell even more in love with the most honorable woman he knows. Brienne’s cries from his dream haunt him the rest of the night. He knows he has to get to Tarth, even if she sends him away, even if she won’t speak to him. Before dawn, he’s well away, riding towards the Twins.

If he can, he keeps a little off the Kingsroad, not wanting to be recognized. His clothes and beard should help, but he thinks of his time in the Riverlands, when his hair was shaved close and Vargo Hoat knew him anyway. He picks his way along the Red Fork, buds of spring finally rising along the river’s banks, and at night, sleeps under the stars.

When he finally arrives in Saltpans, he stays nearly a week, not wanting to draw suspicion by selling his horse and jumping on the next boat out. A man laughs when he inquires about a ship. “Tarth!? You think you’re in Storm’s End, do ya?” Storm’s End would mean traveling near King’s Landing and Jaime is content to never set eyes on the city again. “Eh, alright. Catch a boat out to Gulltown and you might have better luck.”

He bribes and cajoles his way to Gulltown, then to Stonedance. There’s still Lannister gold, but he uses it sparingly. The bed for her is his idea, but Tyrion’s the one who put it in motion, as Jaime goes from ship to ship, hoping to hide his high born speech. Some of the captains survey him suspiciously, but never say a word, and he learns to stay quiet, to blend into the background.

The day the ship is due to arrive in Tarth, though, he stands out on the hull of the ship all morning. The air is heavy with salt, he can taste it on his lips, and every time the boat strikes waves, it slaps water into the air, soaking his feet. Nothing can break his gaze as the mist finally parts. He leans forward, taking in the chalky white cliffs which seem to rise straight up from the docks. The water sparkles, winking green, then a deep blue. He knew Tarth would be beautiful, but he hadn’t expected his breath to catch in his chest. Her home.


	4. Lannister No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as she enjoys building the boys’ skills, she needs to find a master-at-arms. Her other duties as the Evenstar seem to grow more numerous by the day and increasingly she finds her mind is not focused on the delicate balance of footwork or the calculated cunning of swordplay. Most recently she’s been distracted by Jaime Lannister, has found herself thinking of him almost every hour of the day.

They’re getting better. Brienne watches as the young men spar with each other. She walks among them, observing, pointing out sloppy footwork or correcting a stroke, but mostly she stays quiet. When one of them bests another, she occasionally calls out, “Well done.” Being overly praised will make them haughty and the world already has enough of those men. She works to teach them strength and stamina over flashy footwork and risky moves. 

The young men are polite and respectful, which is such a vast difference from the boys she knew growing up. The ones who gaped at her, bullied her, and tried to best her. Today, though, they are in a raucous mood, teasing and tackling each other. As much as she enjoys building the boys’ skills, she needs to find a master-at-arms. Her other duties as the Evenstar seem to grow more numerous by the day and increasingly she finds her mind is not focused on the delicate balance of footwork or the calculated cunning of swordplay.

Most recently she’s been distracted by Jaime Lannister, has found herself thinking of him almost every hour of the day. She should not have let him stay. 

But after mourning him for months, it was hard to know what to do when he suddenly showed up at her door. Part of her wanted to slap him but part of her wanted to kiss him. To forget everything he said to her at Winterfell, because he was  _ alive _ .

She’s never quite been able to sort through her feelings for him. Once he stopped calling her wench, once they came to an understanding, and later, friendship, she sometimes found herself thinking of him and wondered if he ever thought of her.  _ These are the daydreams of an innocent maiden _ , she chided herself. 

Yet every time she saw him again, it was hard for her to ignore the rush of emotions. The way he looked at her, so steadily, so earnestly. Every time she saw him, it was remembering all these things anew. It wasn’t simply a story she made up in her head. He’d given her a sword, the sister to his own, and dressed her in Lannister armor. 

If they’d been able to spend time together, things between them may have blossomed into something more, but Winterfell was the only time they had. She let her guard down and he’d taken advantage. It would be easy to see it that way, but it wasn’t so. For once, she may have taken her armor off, but she chose him, as much as he chose her. Jaime knew her well. They understood each other. He didn’t mock her for her loyalty or honor, he admired her for it. He was a better man than even he could see. She knows, even after everything he said to her, there is goodness there. He carries honor in his heart. He would not have shown up on her doorstep otherwise. 

But she also knows her heart cannot take another crack, another hurt. 

As she rides up the path to Evenfall, she can see Jaime and Pod waiting for her to arrive. As they see her approach, Jaime mounts his horse, saying something to Pod as he goes, and rides to meet her. They exchange pleasantries and Brienne wonders where they should go. She thinks of her favorite spot, a secret swimming hole along the island’s craggy beaches, but they would be there during sunset, nearly, which feels too romantic. She draws her horse up short. He glances back at her, confused. “Is something wrong, my lady?”

“No,” she answers, but pulls her horse around to go the other direction. “I changed my mind. The spot I want to show you is nearby. It’s a far ride to the beaches. We’ll go another day.” 

He nods at her to lead on. They pass the house and she tries to see it through Jaime’s eyes. It’s a castle built with gray stone, most of the rooms sprawling out from the grand spiral stairs in its center. Her father teased if it kept growing, it was going to hurl itself into the ocean. He so desperately wanted to fill the many rooms with the sounds of a happy family, with children, but the gods had other ideas. 

“Evenfall is quite impressive. The views from the rooms are breathtaking.” 

_ He’s being polite _ , she thinks.  _ No doubt Casterly Rock is even statelier. But there is awe in his words.  _ “Thank you. I admit I was a bit hesitant to return.” 

Jaime tears his eyes away from the house and glances over at her. “What do you mean?” 

“I planned to stay at Winterfell with Lady Sansa,” she explains. “But she had other ideas. She wanted me to return here.”

“I must confess,” he says genially. “I never knew you to have any interest in being the Evenstar.” 

“No, it’s true,” she blushes at him knowing her so well. “My father was the one who wanted me to be Lady of Evenfall. But it is my duty to my family, Sansa was right.” 

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it doesn’t matter any longer.” Jaime often says cryptic things, but Brienne feels her defenses go up.

“What do you mean?” 

“Our new Queen is trying to dismantle our old system, is she not? So what will houses and banners matter if we are all to be united?”

She’s confused about why Jaime is upset. He’s never cared for politics before. She tries for a slight change of subject. “I imagine you plan to return to Casterly Rock.” 

“It’s Tyrion’s,” he replies dismissively.

“Yes, but he’s your brother. And you’re the rightful heir. He was only given the Rock because everyone thought you…” 

“Died?” He scoffs, a sharp smile cutting across his face. “Tyrion deserves it.” 

“That may well be, but you’re the heir. He can’t-” 

“He can do whatever he wants. I’m not a Lannister anymore.” 

“Of course you are.” Brienne thinks he’s joking but a glance at him tells her the opposite.

“No. Not anymore.” There’s stubbornness in his voice. 

“I don’t think you get to  _ decide _ -”

“I had to. I should have broken from them a long time ago.” They’ve arrived at the edge of the forest. Even though they have not traveled far from the castle, the air has grown cool and a mistiness floats through the trees. Brienne stills for a moment, taking it in, before they guide their horses through the wood as they continue their discussion.

“So you’re disavowing your family?” He clenches his jaw, the tiniest muscle flinch. She sees it because she knows how he acts when he’s not telling her the whole truth. Brienne softens her question. “I admire your intent, but why does it matter now? It’s you and Tyrion.” 

He tugs on the reins to pause and she does the same to her horse. His green eyes finally soaking in their surroundings before looking at her. His eyes seem to alight on every plane of her face while still meeting her gaze with his own.

“Because I would give them up for you. I never wanted to leave Winterfell-”

Her heart clenches, almost a stutter. She lets out the breath she’s been holding and demands, “Stop. Please, stop.” 

“Brienne.” 

“Please.” There’s a waver in her voice. She hates herself for it, remembering all the men who made her feel weak. The ones who teased her at Highgarden, Renly, and worst of all, the one man she truly trusted. Jaime. For a moment, tucked against him at Winterfell, she hoped he would never give her reason to doubt her feelings. Squeezing her eyes shut against the memory, she lets her horse trot ahead.

“All right,” he says softly behind her. 

They spend the rest of their journey in silence, Brienne not caring if he sees the beauty of Tarth. When they return to the house, Pod announces dinner will be ready shortly. Half hoping Jaime won’t join her, she stiffens when upon entering the hall, she finds him already at the table, swilling wine. She’s never known him to drink much, but maybe he’s right, it is a Lannister family trait.

“I should not have said that, in the woods. You were right. It was unfair of me.”

She gives him a curt nod and slips into the chair across from him. “If you’re not going to be a Lannister, who will you be?”

He shrugs, seeming unconcerned. “You left Tarth. Why is it any different?”

“My family is not one of the most powerful in the Seven Kingdoms. My father would not have let me leave if we had been.”

His eyes darken and he furrows his brow. “Is that true?”

“He wanted me to get married.”

“Ah, yes, I remember. My father wanted me to as well.”

Brienne doesn’t remember telling him about the betrothals, but likes that he knows.  _ There was nothing for me here. If I never left, I never would have met you.  _ “My father and I didn’t always understand each other, but I still loved him. You can’t swear off your family, Jaime. Your brother. He was a comfort to me when we thought…” she shakes her head, unable to continue, still afraid he’s a dream, even as he sits across from her. “What happened to your golden hand?”

“I got rid of it. It was too noticeable.” 

“We don’t have a smith but I could send word to Storm’s End, get you a new one.”

“No,” he objects hastily, startling her. “No, I don’t want anything like it.”

“A new one, then. Perhaps a bit lighter?” After the battle of Winterfell, his forearm was chafed where the hand laid against it during the battle. She remembered the marks, how she ran her fingertips over them gently in soothing strokes, the grateful noise at the back of his throat. 

“Perhaps,” he nods, a smile finally crossing his lips. 

Brienne lies awake, his words echoing in her head.  _ I would give them up for you.  _ Years ago, she would have said Lannisters were loyal to no one, not even themselves, but by knowing Jaime, she knew it to be untrue. They were fiercely loyal to each other and Jaime, for a time, to her. His instinct to put those he cared about first hadn’t always served him well, however. He made mistakes, choices he regretted because of his family. Because of his sister. 

Brienne knows she will never be able to really understand the hold Cersei had over her brother, but she’s wonders, lying awake on nights like these, if Jaime had left King’s Landing sooner, if things might have been different. If he might have chosen a different path. 

He had lost a lot, too. The transition of power oft results in bloodshed and change. Dany had eliminated the traditional Kingsguard because she already had the Unsullied and Dothraki, and if they were to rule equally, she argued, one leader should not receive superior protection over another. 

When he rode north, Jaime effectively broke his vows, and now he had no place to return. If she were to ask him about it, Brienne knows he would pass it off as a burden lifted, but she can see the reality. He’s lost. No wars to fight, no king to protect. She can scarcely imagine it. Her life changed, too, yes. Sometimes it was still jarring to wake up and not be in Winterfell, but at least she had a home and a good bit of hard work in which to throw herself. But what does Jaime have?


	5. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their broadswords sing through the air and the feel of the damp mud under her feet remind her of their first fight in the Riverlands.

Pod brings them both letters at breakfast. Brienne is so confused about who Jaime might be receiving a letter from, she forgets to look at her own until he chuckles and glances up at her. “Tyrion,” he explains, slitting the seal with his knife. 

She does the same, reading the letter quickly before telling Pod to prepare the household staff for Lord Tyrion’s visit. 

“It’s only Tyrion,” Jaime objects. “No need to go to great lengths.” 

She glares at him. “Your brother is the second most powerful person in the kingdom. I think it calls for it.”

“Whatever you wish, Lady Brienne.” ‘Lady’ sounds particularly sarcastic today.

Pod, who has been standing there watching them argue, hesitates, as if he’s unsure whose word to follow, but when Brienne looks at him, he scurries off. 

“I hope you are paying young Pod well.” Jaime snarks. 

“I gave him a choice. He could have stayed at Winterfell or gone out on his own, but he chose to stay with me.”

“I told you he would be a loyal squire.” Everything he says this morning sounds as if he’s teasing her. It makes her miss him, even though he’s sitting close enough to touch, but it’s their friendship, the slow build of trust and respect they forged over the years, which she misses most. 

“Will you come by practice?” she asks, changing the subject. Knowing Jaime doesn’t have much to fill his days, she’s been nudging him about getting involved with the young men who are training as Tarth’s defense. He hasn’t taken her up on the offer yet. 

Jaime lets out a sigh. “Are you sure you wish the Kingslayer to teach your defensemen?” She’s shocked to hear him refer to himself by his nickname, but thinking back to Winterfell and how she was the only one in the room who stood up for him, she realizes how desperately he must want a place in the world where people don’t see him as one deed. “I’m not always welcome and I don’t wish to harm your reputation with the people of Tarth.” 

“They may think what they wish,” she says stoically. “If I choose to have you here, I shall.” A slow grin spreads across his face and Brienne wishes she hadn’t phrased it quite that way. “So you’ll join me? At training?” 

“If it’s what you wish, Ser.” The teasing tone again but a light flickers on in his eyes.  _ Say wench _ , she thinks. “You think you can best me?” 

“Yes, I do.” She tries to remain stern, but can feel the hint of a smile pulling at her cheeks before she leaves the hall, saying she’ll see him at half past two. 

Their broadswords sing through the air and the feel of the damp mud under her feet remind her of their first fight in the Riverlands. Back then, for a moment, all the talk and legacy of the Kingslayer got into her head. Knight at 15, one of the youngest to serve in the Kingsguard. She thought he might best her and leave her for dead, but Jaime was as cocky as he was sure-footed. One step back let her gain all the ground she needed. She was patient, as Ser Goodwin taught her to be, and in the Riverlands, patience let her find the golden lion’s weakness.

The boys yell and holler, “Oy, m’lady!” whenever Jaime appears to be gaining ground, which makes him chuckle, but only makes Brienne square her shoulders and reset her concentration. One of them makes a move, only to be blocked by the other, their swords clanging in a comforting rhythm. Her gaze raises from their swords to his eyes, hoping to find a signal as to his next move. Jaime’s eyes are bright, glittering with power, adrenaline, and the taste of fighting only another knight can understand, but there’s something else, too.  _ Admiration.  _

_ And love?  _

Jaime steps forward, executing a move she hasn’t seen him attempt in years, and she almost yields because she’s so pleased for him, but remembers herself and grits her teeth, before carving her way back into the fight. In the end, she wears him down and gets him into a disadvantageous position due to his right hand. It feels like a dirty trick but Jaime takes it admirably. “Well fought, ser,” he says when she reaches to pull him out of the dirt. He grins at her, eyes still glittering. Her blood is pumping, her hands tingling, and she remembers how  _ fun _ it is to spar with someone as well matched as Jaime. 

*

His right hand rarely tingles anymore, but today, as he picks up the broadsword to practice with Brienne, he feels it. Wants so badly to be able to flex the hand which is no longer there. But it doesn’t stop him from having a smile on his face nearly the whole time they’re dancing. They should have done this more, at Winterfell. They should have done other things more, too. He thinks of her astride him, strong but gentle, his left arm wrapped so tightly around her waist, their bodies flush together. He has to shake his head to clear the image, to concentrate on Brienne’s movements. As he watches her, he sees a dark cloud descend across her face. While she’s been resolute and brave in battle, he’s never known her to be bitter, to go away inside as he has done. 

He knows without having to ask, he’s the one who caused her pain, who drove her away from optimism and innocence. He would let her take his other hand if it meant she didn’t have to suffer darkness or cruelty. “I’m sorry,” he wants to shout, but instead he steps towards her, hoping she can see an apology in his eyes. 

The rest of the afternoon, the look on her face haunts him. Brienne has been more than charitable to let him stay for as long as she has. When Tyrion arrives, Jaime knows he will ask if he wants to return to Casterly Rock with him. His rightful place, once. Now he has no one and nothing. Whenever he imagined a future for himself which wasn’t in King’s Landing, it was with Brienne. But it seems a slimmer and slimmer hope. They’ve been together at Evenfall for weeks and he only sees her briefly at breakfast and then not again until dinner. And when he does see her, she can barely look at him. He can understand why she’s hardened herself towards him, but it’s difficult for him to withstand. She’s the one person who could break down his walls and see him for who he really was, and he felt he knew the true, raw parts of her, but now it feels like he occupies a house with a stranger. 

He tries broaching the subject with Pod a couple times but he always says the same thing, “She went through a lot. Thinking you were dead. Give her time.” Jaime has nothing but time to give, but fears his decision to come to Tarth has made Brienne unhappy. Does his presence feel like a constant reminder of the pain he dealt her? Does she feel pressure to treat him as a friend when she no longer feels for him at all? Jaime doesn’t want to take up space where he isn’t wanted. He’s never been good at sitting still.   


*

Pod stands by Brienne, waiting for Tyrion’s ship to arrive. “You don’t have to wait, my lady. You can go up to the hall with Ser Jaime,” he tells her. “I’m happy to greet Lord Lannister’s ship.”

“Thank you, Pod, but I need to speak to Tyrion.”  _ And I don’t want to be alone with Jaime. _ “I wish to thank him for all the help he provided when…” she trails off, not needing to say it. 

“I understand,” he replies, nodding. “Pardon my ignorance, but why is Lord Tyrion visiting?”

“To sit council with me and hear from the people of Tarth but to visit with his brother also.”

“So will Ser Jaime be returning to Casterly Rock with his brother then?”

Brienne has not considered it. Despite what Jaime told her about swearing off his family name, she knows Pod is right. It seems likely these may be Jaime’s last few weeks in Tarth. She’s hardly made him feel welcome here, but imagining Evenfall without him makes her chest constrict and a deep longing echoes through her bones. “I-I’m unsure,” she stammers. 

“Lady Brienne,” Tyrion smiles when he sees her. “I would kiss your cheek but that would require a ladder.” 

“It’s good to see you again, Lord Tyrion,” she replies, unable to keep from returning his smile. 

“Tyrion, please. Lord sounds too much like my father. I’m glad this visit comes with happier circumstances than the last.” 

“Yes, me as well.” She and Tyrion begin the walk up to the castle together, Pod following behind with one of Tyrion’s pages. 

“How is he?” he asks when they are out of earshot of the others. 

“He’s well.” She wishes she had a better answer. “I suppose,” she adds. “I am often unsure what he’s thinking.” 

“That sounds like Jaime.” Tyrion nods, a little sadly. 

When they reach the crest of the hill and Evenfall spreads before them, Jaime is waiting. Brienne watches as the two brothers embrace, both of them emotional, and their reunion is enough to bring a tear to her own eye. 

That evening, all seriousness is left behind, as the three of them have a rather raucous dinner together, telling stories, the brothers teasing each other relentlessly, and Tyrion convinces Pod to join them for a glass of wine. 

“We should move to the library,” Jaime insists, picking up the pitcher of wine in his good hand. “It’s my favorite room of the house and I want to show Tyrion.” 

Brienne is surprised to hear of Jaime’s fondness for the library, as it’s her favorite place in the house, also. She looks up to find the two of them waiting for her. “No, you go. Have time to yourselves.”  _ Whoever thought I would be hosting the Lannister brothers? _

“Are you quite certain?” He hesitates and his eyes look a bit sad. 

“Yes,” she says firmly. “Go, go. I’ll see you both in the morning.” 

“Good night, Lady Brienne. Thank you for opening up your home for the likes of my brother,” Tyrion says politely.  

Brienne ducks her head, afraid the blush creeping in at her cheeks will betray her. “It’s nothing.” 

“Good night, my lady.” They bid each other good night every evening, but tonight, it sounds different. His eyes are on hers, in that all too serious way, and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. The whole evening has been reminiscent of the one after the battle at Winterfell, a celebratory moment they rarely got to have. It’s only the similarity she’s feeling, she tells herself, there’s nothing more in Jaime’s words than usual. 

“Good night,” she manages to whisper. As she takes the stairs up to her bedroom, Brienne hears them moving into the library, Jaime saying something which makes Tyrion laugh, before he closes the door behind them. 

*

Jaime glances up the stairs towards Brienne’s bedroom before shutting the library door behind him. Tyrion is near the windows, admiring the view, but Jaime takes his usual place in an armchair in front of the fire. 

As Tyrion turns away from the windows, he asks, “So what is your plan, dear brother? To grovel at her feet? Declare your love for her through poem and song?” He stops to pour them both fresh glasses of wine and takes a seat next to his brother. “I confess I never knew you to be such a romantic.”

“I deeply hurt her,” he says softly in reply. “I knew it would take some time, to win her trust back, but I am uncertain she wants me here at all.” 

His brother rolls his eyes. “If she didn’t want you here, she would not have let you stay.”

“She thought I was dead.”  _ Perhaps once the shock wore off, she realized how little she wanted to do with me. _

“And I saw her when we believed it so. She cares for you and I doubt her feelings have changed.” 

Jaime takes a swig of wine. “I’m not so proud as to think groveling beneath me.”

Tyrion chuckles. “And what would you do if she so blessedly—although perhaps stupidly—takes you back? Become a high lord of Tarth?”

“That’s a rather bold assumption,” Jaime scoffs, throwing his brother a sidelong glance. “She has not forgiven me yet. Who is to say she loves me?”

“It’s plain. It always has been. The two of you. When I first saw you together in Winterfell, it was your eyes which gave you both away.” Rather than one of his usual cocky comments, Jaime flushes, unable to speak. “You could do worse, brother. She’s much smarter than you. Stronger than you, even.” His fist connects with Tyrion’s shoulder for that comment, but he doesn’t deny it. Brienne is better than him in every way. It makes him wonder why she bothers. “Does she know about you swearing off our family name?” 

He knew it would come up, but is grateful it hadn’t surfaced over dinner, knowing the two of them would gang up on him. “She does.”

“So there’s nothing I could say to get you to return to Casterly Rock with me?” Jaime remembers how Brienne recoiled when he told her he would have given up his family for her. She spoke of the importance of family. In his experience, she was usually right. His other option was to stay here, exploring Tarth, and living in a castle with someone he wasn’t sure even liked him anymore.     


*

The weeks pass quickly with Tyrion. Brienne introduces him to the people of Tarth, the highborn, the merchants, the sailors, and the youth of Tarth’s defense. There’s to be the first meeting of the Alliance of Seven Kingdoms in a week’s time, Tyrion will stay at Evenfall until then and the two of them will travel to Dragonstone together. As she’s packing for the journey, she crosses into the library, searching for papers where she made notes of Tarth’s progress to share with Dany. 

She passes Jaime’s bedchamber and notices the door is ajar, light spilling out from the fireplace, a large trunk open on the floor, half packed. Her heart drops. 

Jaime hasn’t mentioned anything to her about leaving. She feels she’s losing him all over again. Letting him ride off to King’s Landing, knowing he’s choosing someone else, something else. Suddenly realizing how little time they had together, wishing they could have longer. 

_ If she wants... _

Jaime emerges from elsewhere in the room to find her standing there. “Brienne.” His tone doesn’t betray him but his eyes do. 

“You’re going then?” she manages to ask, her gaze falling on him heavily. 

“Yes.” He doesn’t look away when he answers like she expected. 

“To Casterly Rock?” 

He nods. “Tyrion thought it best. I thought...I know how against abandoning my family name you were.” 

“Were you even going to tell me?” 

“I was.” His voice is small. “I didn’t believe you wanted me here.” 

“What makes you think so?” 

“Everything. You barely look at me or speak to me.” She’s surprised at the anger in his voice. “You were right. I’m alone without my family.” 

“My duties as Evenstar have been more than I expected but I never meant to make you feel-” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he replies sharply. 

But it does. “And you plan to stay? At the Rock?” 

He shrugs cavalierly. “I may not stay long.”

“Then why go at all? You said-” Her voice shakes, either with ire or sadness she isn’t sure.

“What?”

“You said-”  _ You said you would give your family up for me. _ She would never ask him to, of course, but she wonders about the man who makes such hollow promises. He’s not the Jaime she knows. “I need a master-at-arms.” 

He frowns, confused by the offer, but then shakes his head. “No. Pod should have it.” 

“Jaime…” her voice breaks. “I’m asking you to stay.” His eyes hold hers for a long moment and then he’s crossing the space between them, taking her face in his hand, and kissing her. His mouth is warm and sure and though she stands there frozen in shock for a moment, she can feel her body reacting to him, her fingertips brushing at the nape of his neck, pushing into his hair. She kisses him back and he opens his mouth to hers, a noise of desire and relief at the back of his throat before she remembers herself. Her hands land on his shoulders, pushing him away. “No,” she manages to say. “We cannot-” 

“Brienne.” His voice is low, heated with desire. 

“No,” she says again. “You were going to leave without telling me. I won’t put myself through this again. I cannot…” she trails off, almost faltering as she sees the hurt pass across his gaze, but tears herself away, out of his room, before remembering she doesn’t know if he plans to stay, if his kiss was an answer. 


	6. Dragonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She cannot stop thinking about how her last words to him were in frustration, if not outright anger. Cannot stop thinking about his hand cupping her cheek and his mouth on hers. How she never dared hope for someone to look at her in the way he does, all astonishment and wonder.

Jaime runs a hand through his hair.  _ What in the seven hells was that?  _ His heart is pounding, hand shaking, anger and confusion boiling over before he strides to her room and opens the door without knocking. 

Brienne looks up, startled. “I’ll stay and work as master-at-arms. If that’s all right with you, my lady,” he adds sarcastically. 

“Fine,” she answers curtly. “You can begin tomorrow.”

The next morning, he rises early, so as not to run into anyone. He heads for the stables, speaking to one of the stable boys as he readies a destrier, but refuses the boy’s help. He rides towards the forest near the edge of Evenfall Hall. 

As a young man, when he was frustrated or angry, he worked out his feelings in the practice yard, but after he lost his hand, sparring was no longer as helpful as it once was. He only became more frustrated because of his physical limitations. But losing his hand did not affect his ability to ride. He liked being outside, feeling the sun or a breeze on his face, and guiding the horse through its paces. It was freeing. 

A thick mist shrouds the trees, scent of juniper and pine sweet in his nose as he picks his way through the forest slowly. He listens to the birdsong and the slight rustle of the wind in the trees. Coming upon an opening in the wood, he can just make out the outline of the mountains through the mist. Brienne has never taken him there. He dislikes the unease which has grown between them. It feels an ever-widening gap and he’s trying to do everything in his power to stop it from expanding, but he’s too late every time. 

If he closes his eyes, he can remember her voice.  _ Jaime, I’m asking you to stay. _ It was his chance, the same one she’d given him in Winterfell, which he so desperately wanted to take then but could not. Last night was his chance to beat the chasm between them back. 

When he left her in the North, he wondered if he was making an irrevocable decision. If he was choosing, yet again, his family over someone who loved him, who was good and honorable. Someone who thought he was worthy of honor and loyalty in return.

*

Even though she was physically there for the aftermath of the Battle of King’s Landing, Brienne remembers none of it except her grief, so seeing everyone at Dragonstone is a much happier reunion this time around. As she’s settling into her room, there’s a knock on the door and she looks up to see Sansa, her red hair glinting in the light, her cheeks pulled upward into a rare smile. “My lady, it’s good to see you smiling.” 

“Lady Brienne, you must tell me all about Tarth.” Sansa says conspiratorially, sweeping into the room and settling onto the bed. The way she holds herself is still as regal, but something in her movements is lighter, more free. At Winterfell, she was always coiled tightly, a viper ready to strike. It’s a quality Brienne always admired in Sansa, but she is also glad to see her smile so easily. 

Brienne laughs. “It was hard at first, being there alone, but you were right, it’s growing on me.” 

“Ah, but I heard you had company.” Sansa quirks an eyebrow upwards.

“Tyrion, you mean?” 

“No, Ser Jaime.” 

Her brow furrows. “How did you know he was…?”

“He came to Winterfell. Did he not tell you?” Brienne stutters, searching for an answer. She feels like a fool. She never asked Jaime  _ why _ he had come to Tarth, mostly as an act of self-preservation, because she was not prepared to have a conversation with him about any of it. Why he left her at Winterfell, why he was showing up on Tarth, back from the dead. “Brienne? Are you all right?” Sansa’s voice interrupts her thoughts. 

“Yes,” she answers hoarsely. “I did not know Jaime came to Winterfell.” 

“He did. To find you.” She tilts her head. “He apologized to me for betraying my trust, for leaving, but I do not believe it is my trust he cares about, Ser Brienne. It’s yours.” He had come to Tarth because he trusted her, because she knew the parts of him that were hardest to look upon, and she had treated him coldly, as if they’d never revealed those dark truths to each other, as if they’d never shared a bed. 

She blushes, aware Sansa knows, has known ever since she went to her to ask if Jaime could stay after the battle. Sansa had simply given her a long look, her blue eyes almost teasing when she finally replied, “Then why isn’t he here to speak for himself?” 

“He wanted to be, my lady, but I told him it was best if I spoke to you first.” 

“Very well. Ser Jaime has my permission to stay in Winterfell under the North’s protection.” 

“Thank you, my lady.” She turned to go, but Sansa called her back. 

“Ser Brienne? I only caution you to be careful.” A shadow passed across her gaze, before seeming to remember herself and look back at Brienne. 

“I understand,” Brienne replied carefully. “Thank you, Lady Sansa.” She was naive enough to think she did not need to heed her warning. Only after Jaime left did Brienne come to realize how alike she was to Sansa. They both expected others to be good and honorable because they still believed in the knights and ladies of the stories and songs, only to have the world teach them how cruel others could be. Brienne thought she had learned that lesson long ago, but Jaime’s decision, his absence, taught it to her anew.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says now. “Ser Jaime has been on Tarth these many months,” she concedes, struggling for a way to express what she wants to say. “But I find I cannot forgive him.” Jaime knew her well enough to realize she wasn’t in a place to forgive him, wasn’t in a place to discuss their future, and he stayed anyway. Stayed to be near her, hoping her heart would shift, move closer to his. 

“You take your time,” Sansa replies, as if it’s as easy as it sounds. “If he’s worthy, he will wait.” 

_ He already has. _ Brienne feels the guilt well up in her, the fear and anxiety settling in her chest. She wishes she weren’t here, wishes she could leave. Take a boat back to Tarth and tell him everything. 

“He will wait,” Sansa says again, an assurance in her tone. She rises, holding her hand out to Brienne. “Come. It’s nearly time for dinner.” As she allows Sansa to lead her to the dining hall, Brienne realizes how right she was to send her to Tarth. It was clear she no longer needed protection. Sansa was no longer a maid of three-and-ten, but a mature young woman who commanded the whole of the North. 

*

On the second morning in Dragonstone, Brienne is pulled aside by Missandei. “My lady, you received a raven from Tarth.”

Brienne glances at Tyrion but takes the scroll from the young woman and continues into the alliance meeting. As she sits down, she unrolls the paper and reads. 

_ Ser Jaime has fallen ill. An infection from an old wound, the maester says. Come at once. -P _

She nearly keels over at the words. “It’s Jaime. He’s ill. Pod says I should come.” 

Tyrion looks shaken. “Should I as well?” 

“No, your duty is here. I will send word once I arrive back on Tarth,” she replies evenly, glad her voice does not betray her panic. 

“Take my ship. I will let Her Grace know of your departure.” He reaches out for her hand before she turns to go. “If you need anything, please do not hesitate.”

“I will,” she promises, squeezing his hand. “Thank you.” She rushes upstairs for her things, glad she has not quite unpacked, and finds Tyrion’s ship already at the docks. “How fast can we reach Tarth?” she asks the captain once they are moving. 

“At least a week. Done it in four days but nearly killed all of my men.” 

“I will pay double their wages.” 

“Aye, milady. We’ll get you there as quick as we can.” 

Brienne finds a chamber, the same one she occupied on the journey over. Since receiving the raven, her thoughts have been a jumble, but adrenaline propelled her into action and now she has nothing to do but wait. To sit and think. It’s torture. Unable to turn her mind off, she lies awake that night, trying to get the undulating rhythm of the ship to carry her off to sleep. 

She cannot stop thinking about how her last words to him were in frustration, if not outright anger. Cannot stop thinking about his hand cupping her cheek and his mouth on hers. How she never dared hope for someone to look at her in the way he does, all astonishment and wonder. How she’s held on to her grief and anger for months because she was afraid. Brienne stopped having much use for the Faith of the Seven long ago, but tonight, she closes her eyes and prays she will see Jaime again. 

*

Four days later, as the green isle comes into view, she’s never felt so relieved to be home. She hurries up the path to Evenfall, worried about what she might find when she arrives. “Pod!” she shouts as she enters the front door. 

He hurries down the steps towards her. “My lady, you-”

“Where is he?” 

“In his chambers. The maester is with him. You may want to wait-”

Brienne is already climbing the stairs, not even waiting for Pod to finish. She bursts into his room to find Maester Charleton applying leeches. Jaime’s eyes are closed but he is pale and the skin on his face looks as if it’s stretched too thin. “He will not survive this if his fever does not break.” 

“What happened?” Brienne pulls a chair to his bedside, her fingertips just brushing against Jaime’s. 

“A sparring blade nicked an old scar and the wound grew infected. It is likely Ser Jaime or your steward knew nothing to be wrong until the fever hit.” 

“Can I see the wound?” 

The maester looks at her strangely, but does not refuse her request. He pulls up Jaime’s shirt and peels back wrappings to reveal a large scar across his abdomen, one end of which is now inflamed and swollen, threatening to break the scar tissue open. Brienne can’t stop looking at the length of the old scar. It must be one of the wounds he suffered at King’s Landing. She doesn’t understand how anyone could survive such an injury. It makes him showing up on her doorstep all the more miraculous. The maester replaces the dressings with fresh ones and removes the leeches. “If he wakes, get him to drink. It will help the fever.” 

“Thank you, maester.” When he’s gone, Brienne slips her fingers fully into Jaime’s. “I’m here.” Her chin quivers. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I asked you to be master-at-arms and you got hurt. I-” She blinks back tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” 

Brienne doesn’t leave his bedside for the rest of the day, staying when the maester returns in the evening for more blood letting, staying despite Pod begging her to eat, rest, or take a bath. It’s the middle of the night, the candle flickering on its nub, when finally her eyes begin to close.  _ I’ll simply rest my head here for a moment _ . Shifting down into the chair, she can stretch so she’s still got her hand in Jaime’s but is able to lie her head back and shut her eyes. 

There’s a pressure in her palm. She’s so near to sleep, she’s certain she’s dreaming. But the pressure is there again and her eyes fly open. “Jaime?” In the near darkness, he nods weakly. “Jaime,” she whispers again, more urgently. Happy and worried all at once. She starts to withdraw her hand from his to pour him a cup of water, but he clamps down on it. “Just for a moment,” she tells him. “You need to drink.” She pours him water and gently tilts the cup to his lips. He does as he’s told, water dribbling down his chin, but he lets out a satisfied sigh when she draws the cup away. Brienne gently dabs away the water on his chin. “You’re quite a mess,” she teases. “Not at all suitable for a knight.” 

His mouth stretches into a thin smile. She touches his cheek, but as she studies his face, tears well up, so she sits down, pretending to straighten her clothes so she can subtly wipe her eyes. Then Brienne laces her fingers with his again. “Since we’re both awake, shall I tell you a story?” He nods, but his eyelids are already growing heavy. “Once, two knights met in a wood. But one of them was secretly a prince and the other secretly a highborn lady...” 

The next morning, she wakes, her neck cramped from how she slept, but her first concern is him. “Jaime,” she whispers, but he’s still asleep. She rises, touching the back of her hand to his forehead, which is still burning with fever. In an attempt to bite back the panic rising, she takes a deep breath, which shudders down her ribs and spine. 

Brienne moves the curtains back, letting some light into the room, and calls for the maester. When he lost his hand, Jaime was feverish for days. She begged him to live. She was not above doing it again. “Is there anything else we can do for him?” 

Maester Charleton suggests cold compresses or an ice bath. “There’s a small spring in the forest,” she tells Pod. “The water is always blissfully cold. Can we get it brought here?” 

Once the bath is ready, she wakes Jaime. “This is going to be a shock.” 

She helps him up gingerly. “Brienne…” he tries to speak, his voice hoarse. 

“Shh,” she murmurs. “Save your strength.” 

She undresses him and as she’s reaching to unlace his breeches, she hears him croak, “This was not what I imagined…” Brienne smiles in spite of herself. 

“Come on,” she tells him, his arm slung around her shoulders, as she guides him forward gently. She straightens as much as she can with his weight against her and lets Jaime balance himself with a hand on her shoulder as he steps into the tub. He hisses as the cold water hits his leg and holds himself there, his muscles shaking, as he gets used to the temperature. She takes his good hand in hers, holding him steady, until he can manage to lift his other leg into the tub. 

Seeing him shivering in the bath is almost more than she can take. Tears sting her eyes and this time she doesn’t even bother hiding them from him. “Brienne,” he whispers. “You need to stop saving me. I don’t deserve it.” Jaime leans back, his hand weakly clutching the edge of the tub. 

“I shall never stop,” she whispers, another oath she intends to keep. He watches her through hooded eyes, his breathing labored. She intertwines her fingers with his, lifting his hand to her mouth and placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. When she gathers herself, Brienne instructs Pod to bring in the hot water, to heat up the bath to a normal temperature. It’s a relief when Jaime’s body stops vibrating from the cold. She helps coax him from the bath, wrapping him in clean, dry cloth, but it’s too much for her to dry him, help dress him. Brienne lets her handmaids step in, unable to handle Jaime’s eyes on her. Returning to her bedchamber for the first time in days, she changes her own clothes, her hands shaking. 

When she goes back to Jaime’s room, he’s abed with his eyes closed. She takes her usual position next to him, her hand easily slipping into hers. The bath helps, but it’s not enough to break his fever. Brienne spoons soup carefully into his mouth at dinner time, her concentration on the movement and on Jaime’s face the only things which keep her from thinking the worst. Pod begs her to eat something herself and get some rest, but she cannot tear herself away from his bedside. When the maester comes for Jaime’s blood letting, she tells him to let him be. As he goes, Jaime squeezes her hand gratefully. Waking in the night, the candle has burned out, the room lit only by the moon. She can hear his ragged breathing. Her back aches from being seated for so long, her shoulders rigid, her neck tight. It comes quickly, a breath. “Brienne,” he murmurs her name into the dark and she can’t be sure if he’s awake or dreaming. 

“I’m here,” she answers and when no response comes, she stands, hesitating a moment, wondering what it would be like to feel the heat of him next to her again. In the darkness, her mind turns over those memories for a long moment before deciding and slipping into bed next to him. His eyes blink in the darkness, the outline of his jaw comes into focus as he moves closer to her. He’s burning with fever but she wants to hold him close.  _ Needs _ to. “I’m here.” Jaime lets out a sigh against her skin. She strokes his back, hoping to soothe him in some way. 

Waking at dawn, Brienne barely notices how their bodies curved together during the night, instead reaching up to place a hand on his forehead. His skin is cool. As she’s drawing her hand back, his eyes flutter open. Green. A look of disbelief and surprise cross his face. “Your fever broke,” she says simply. There are dark shadows under his eyes, the lines there more pronounced. “I’ll let you rest.” 

He shakes his head, reaching out for her to stay. The simple act brings tears to her eyes and she feels stupid for thinking she could allow herself to do this, to lie with him and then rise as if it were nothing in the morning. “Brienne…” she wonders when he began to say her name this way, a poem, a prayer on his lips. It returns to her in waves. The feelings, the understanding, the wanting, the love she had walled up inside herself. 

“I was so afraid I was going to lose you,” she manages to say, trying to hold her tears back, her breath coming in short gasps. 

Jaime cups her face in his hand, his thumb stroking along her cheek, as he whispers, “I’m here. As long as you’ll have me, I’m here.”

And maybe he doesn’t deserve it, maybe he’s right, but  _ she _ does. She deserves it. Brienne desires whatever he has to give, knowing it will never be perfect, but it will be hers. 


	7. Dawn

When Jaime opens his eyes, sunlight streams in the windows. He’s uncertain if it’s morning light or the setting sun, all he knows is the woman next to him in bed. He studies her sleeping face for a long moment, unsure she’s really there. Slowly the details start to come into focus: the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, the lock of blonde hair which has come out of place and is lying across her forehead. Tentatively, he reaches his hand out to brush it back into place, letting his fingertips glide through her short strands. Short, but soft. 

Her pale eyelashes start to blink awake. Blue eyes widen momentarily upon seeing him, but then soften as she remembers their conversation in the early hours. Jaime doesn’t know what to say or how to act. Should he touch her? Kiss her? “Good morning, my lady.” 

A blush rises in her cheeks and her eyes drop from his, but she replies, “Good morning.” 

He doesn’t expect Brienne to linger, knowing she has her duties as Evenstar, but to his surprise, she does, neither of them eager to leave the warm cocoon of his bed. She spends most of the next few days with him, making sure he is getting better and growing stronger. They sit outside at the height of the afternoon sun, his face upturned to feel its warmth. In the evenings, he curls up in his favorite chair in the library, Brienne reading the history of Tarth to him. The infection and swelling seem to have gone, but he still tires quickly. Despite his easy exhaustion, he finds it difficult to get to sleep, tossing and turning well after he blows out the candle. He keeps imagining Brienne’s hand in his, her hand on his cheek, fingertips brushing through his beard as she whispers his name. 

A soft knock. He lies still, thinking he imagined it, but it sounds again. Jaime unfurls himself from the bedclothes and fumbles across his chamber in the dark to answer the door. Brienne is standing on the other side, candle in hand. “I couldn’t-” Before she can finish her sentence, he is leading her across the room, pulling the blankets back on his bed, and curling next to her to sleep. 

When it’s nearly dawn, the grey green mists tuck themselves near the castle, and Brienne gently wakes him before slipping back to her own chamber, else Pod or her handmaids see her empty bed. The nights are stolen moments, a truce as they inch their way back together. Even though Jaime wants nothing more than to kiss her senseless, he waits. 

He can feel Brienne assessing him when he appears in the great hall each morning, and upon catching his reflection, he can see why. He barely recognizes himself. His clothes hang off of him, his face is gaunt, the dark hollows under his eyes are deep and permanent. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days and the patches of grey at his temples seem to be multiplying. Jaime thinks perhaps Brienne is getting the worse end of the deal. A greying, weakened lion. And yet, the way she looks at him now catches him deeply in the chest, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth before whispering away again.

“Promise me,” he says to her one morning when Pod is out of the room. 

“Promise you?” Brienne frowns, looking up from the various books and ledgers she is surveying more often than not these days. 

“That we will speak. Tonight, my lady.” 

“Jaime, you don’t have to call me-” 

“You’re lucky it’s not wench,” he says over her objections. Brienne’s jaw juts out stubbornly and he expects to see the same determination in her gaze as when he was her prisoner, but instead her eyes are soft, a hint of a twinkle there. “Promise me?” 

“That will be fine,” she says evenly. 

“Good,” he smiles at her as Pod comes back into the room and she flushes, looking down at her cooling porridge. 

*

When she enters the library, she’s carrying something wrapped in navy cloth under her arm. He looks at her questioningly. “It’s for you.” Brienne places it in his lap and takes her usual chair next to him, her blue eyes expectant. 

Jaime unfurls the fabric, a swelling in his chest when he sees the gift. It’s a new hand, the one she promised. Made of iron or silver, he isn’t quite sure, because he’s never seen any metal in the same hue. Quite dark in shadow, almost gray, but a soft, shimmering blue in the light. It’s familiar to him. He looks over at Brienne. “It’s the same color as your armor, your old armor.” 

She nods, eyes sparkling in the firelight. “Do you like it? I can get Gendry to make you something else-”

Along the inner edge of the wrist, there are delicate figures engraved. The sunbursts and moon of Tarth, a lion with a shaggy mane, a shield and a sword. “No,” he tells her. “I love it. It’s beautiful.” His voice is choked with emotion and he has to breathe, to speak, or he will start crying. “Gendry made this?” 

“He has other duties now, I know,” she chuckles. “But I would not trust anyone else with it. The metal is from here, from Tarth. It’s said the ice from the mountain and the waters from the beaches are what give it this color.”

“The Sapphire Isle,” he murmurs under his breath. 

“Here. I’ll help you put it on.” Jaime is wearing the simple wooden hand tonight, although he’s quite gotten used to not wearing a hand at all. For a moment, as Brienne fits it gently against his stump, he worries he won’t be able to bear the weight anymore. His thoughts are distracted by Brienne’s fingertips on his arm as she tightens and ties the stays. Almost immediately, he can tell it is much lighter than the gold hand. He can’t stop admiring it in the light. “Brienne, I-”

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head at his excuses. “You armed me, armored me. This is simply thanks in return.” 

He holds her gaze for a long time, her eyes electric. “I love you.” The words come easily. He’s wanted to tell her since the halls of Winterfell, where she looked at him after the battle as if he were magic, he wanted to tell her under the furs when she touched his chest with calloused hands, and he wanted to tell her here, in Evenfall Hall, when she held him--back from the dead--when he smelled of salt and sea.

Brienne stares back at him, a statue for a long moment, then wide-eyed and stammering. “You can’t-- We haven’t... _ Jaime _ .” She sinks to her knees in front of him and he reaches for her, one hand warm in his, her other hand atop his new one. He loves her.  _ Brienne the Blue. Brienne the Beauty. _

*

“I love you.” Brienne is certain she’s misheard him. There’s a strange, low humming in her ears. “You can’t--We haven’t…” All her objections are folly in light of his words and the way he’s looking at her. All those weeks in Winterfell, she hoped it to be true, yearned for it, but he never said the words.  _ “Jaime.”  _

She thinks of all the teasing, the taunting, the japes, the remarks about her looks, Jaime calling her wench for months, and never would she have guessed that they would end up here. The armor which she wore, the walls which she built up, both necessary to face the world everyday, and Jaime knocked them all down as if they were nothing.

Her knees weak, she finds herself kneeling and he’s reaching for her, his hand slipping into hers. “I should have said it sooner. I wanted to. And when I left…” His voice is strained and she’s astonished to see tears in his eyes, but quickly realizes her watery eyes match his own. “I hope you knew, somehow.” He takes a shaky breath. “I should have never left.” 

“But you did.” Her voice is small, soft. 

“I did,” he replied. He may be weakened but she can see the Lannister pride in him still.

Jaime has seen her vulnerable before: in the woods with the Bloody Mummers, swinging helplessly at a bear with a tourney sword, but it was another thing entirely to bare her uncertainties to him. “Why? Did you feel differently then?” 

“About you?” His brow furrows and his fingers touch her cheek. “No. There were no false feelings. I meant them then as I do now.” 

“But-” 

“I never left for her, not for Cersei. Do you not know it by now?” Jaime continues, answering what she’s too afraid to ask. Brienne can feel something still in her then, something comes to rest, a question she’s been carrying all these months.

“Then why did you say those things? That you’re no better than her? Do you really believe them?” He tucks his chin to his chest and lets out a deep sigh. “You cannot go on believing your choices don’t matter or that no one cares for you, because there are those of us who do.” 

“It’s enough that you believe I am a good man.” It’s never going to be something he can easily accept. She knows it now. She knew it when she begged him to stay. 

“Jaime...” He looks past her, his gaze focusing on the hearth behind her, his countenance dark. She recognizes the look as the same one he wore when he told her what happened in King’s Landing, the same as when he told her about killing Aerys.

“I was doing it to protect you. I said all those things because you would have come with me to King’s Landing. And I could not let you.” 

“I can handle myself.” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m well aware of that, Ser Brienne.” His expression darkens again and he pauses before continuing. “But you don’t understand. If Cersei knew you were there… She would have taken you from me. She would have hurt you in ways you cannot imagine.” 

Brienne thinks of how they fought back to back at Winterfell. He coming to her rescue and she to his. They could have done the same at King’s Landing she wants to argue, but he knows his sister. She has heard stories about Cersei’s cruelty from Sansa, from others, and knows Jaime is probably right. One of them would have been tortured and it would not have been the brother Cersei loved. “Then why not tell me that?” 

“Because,” he says, a half smile on his lips. “I know you. You would have insisted.” His face grows serious again. “I was never going to let her near you. I was never going to let her do that. Not to me and not to you. Not to  _ us _ .” His thumb strokes her knuckles. 

She believes him. She has no doubt he did it all to protect her, but it doesn’t make the pain she felt then and the pain she feels now, talking about it again, any less. “You could have died.” Her throat is thick, but she manages to swallow. “You could have died with her and I never would have known. I thought you  _ were _ dead.” 

“Brienne…” He runs his fingers through her hair in an effort to soothe her. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. But I’m here, and I need you to understand one thing: I love you. I will say it everyday until you believe me. So come, curse me, kiss me, or call me a liar. Something.” 

Swallowing her tears, she rises to her feet, towering over him as she steps in between his legs. Brienne threads her hands through his hair and lowers her mouth to his. The kiss is soft and as delicate as her heart. Jaime is the one who opens his mouth to hers, deepening it, as his hand lands at her waist and tugs her closer. He directs her to sit on his lap, which makes her laugh, but it’s easier to loop her arms around his shoulders and kiss him. Kiss him until she’s out of breath, until they both are. As they catch their breath, he rests his forehead against hers. There will be more questions, more things they need to speak about, but for tonight, this is enough. 

Jaime’s eyelashes flutter closed. “Are you tired?” she asks, her voice a whisper. 

“Mmm,” he murmurs. 

“Come to bed.” She tells him, starting to rise, but he holds her on his lap, pulling her in for another kiss. Afterwards, his green eyes flicker open to look at her and she can’t help the shy smile on her face. “Come on.”

He walks beside her up the stairs. Brienne keeps stealing glances at him, uncertain any of this is happening. Her mind feels like it’s racing along behind his, trying to keep up. Once they are out of the main hall, he takes her hand in his, and the warmth of his palm against hers brings her back to herself. “Stay,” he says when they stop in front of his room. “Please.” 

Brienne steps into him, pulling him to her for another kiss, this one more hurried than before. Jaime’s heart quickens and he reaches behind them to open the door, the two of them practically falling through it. He nudges her up against the wall, his mouth on hers, hand in her hair. Once again, she wonders if this is simply all a fever dream, but when Jaime reaches up to untie the laces of her shirt, she puts a hand on his. Winterfell comes flooding back. The heat of the fire mixing with the warmth in her cheeks from the wine. His eyes on hers, trying to judge if she likes Tormund, if she wants this every bit as much as he does. The same eyes which are looking back at her now, trying to guess what she’s thinking. “Are you all right?” he asks, his brow creased with worry. 

_ It’s different now. _ She bites her lip and nods. “I probably shouldn’t stay.” 

“Brienne.” The careful way he says her name makes her want to cry. “I’m not leaving. I’ll stay, as long as you’ll have me.” 

“I know.” She does know, but is grateful for his words all the same. He’s looking at her expectantly and Brienne takes a long breath. She presses a hand into his chest. “Come here,” she says finally, deciding. Jaime closes the gap between them, his lips landing somewhere between her ear and her cheek, which makes her laugh, before he kisses her properly. He walks her back until they are leaning against his bed. This time when he reaches up to untie her shirt, she doesn’t object. His new metal hand rests at her hip, holding her in place. After he undoes her shirt, he starts to untie the stays of his new hand, but Brienne’s fingers cover his. “Let me.” He looks up at her, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, because even though she hasn’t said it, it’s all there in her eyes. It’s clear she loves him, too. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. Her fingers stroke his stump where it was pressed up against the metal. “Does that hurt?” 

Jaime shakes his head. “No, the new hand is so light. Maybe it will prevent the marks the old one made.”  

“I hope so.” He kisses her again then, spinning them around so he can pull her down on top of him. He smiles at her cheekily, his meaning clear. “Jaime,” she laughs, and gods, he’s forgotten how it feels to make her laugh, like he can barely catch his breath, like his heart might burst out of his chest. “We shouldn’t. You’re not strong enough yet.” 

“Then you’ll have to do most of the work.” Ever so gently, he slides his fingertips across the raised scars at the bottom of her neck and collarbone. Her bear scars. His mouth lands just above them, at the sensitive, softest part of her neck and it’s enough to forget all of her objections, it’s enough that all she can do is slip her arms tighter around him. She hasn’t forgotten this, but her senses feel as if they’re on fire. The bristles of his beard brush white hot against her skin and it takes her a long moment to realize the low keening noise is coming from her as he kisses his way down her neck. Her hands slide down the planes of his back, her fingers gathering the soft material of his shirt and lifting it upward, until he’s ducking away from her so she can lift it over his head. He follows her movements, lifting her shirt off. 

Jaime is watching her, but she can’t help it, her eyes rake over his body. She spent so many weeks in Winterfell memorizing it, every scar, every freckle, all his muscle and sinew. There’s a momentary hesitation, realizing how large she feels sitting on top of him, looking down. He halts her thoughts by placing his hand at the smallest part of her waist, a simple gesture which makes her feel feminine and powerful all at once. Her mouth lands against his, hungry and hurried and  _ wanting _ . 

“Gods,” he gasps, his hand skimming up the side of her body, until his fingers thread through her hair.  “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, but he must sense her mistrust. “You’re beautiful to  _ me _ .” His hand cups her breast, a shocked breath escaping from her lips as he slides his thumb across her nipple. Bowing his head, he flicks his tongue across it, and Brienne can feel gooseflesh breaking out across her chest. His breath is hot against her skin. His mouth and beard creating a path of hunger down her body. 

Shifting her attention to where she sits atop him, she can feel the warmth between her thighs, the need for him overpowering her. Her hips seem to move involuntarily and suddenly she can feel his hardness throbbing against her. Brienne reaches between them to touch him through the fabric and his skin, his muscles, his whole body jumps under her touch. The sound in his throat is unintelligible, animal, and Brienne rocks backwards, allowing herself more space to feel him. He starts to reach for her, but she pulls her hand back, looking him straight in the eye. “I thought I was supposed to be in charge.” 

Jaime moans. “Do you know how long I waited for this?”

“Tell me,” she whispers, uncertain where this bout of bravado came from, but determined not to tear her gaze away from his. The way he looks at her makes her stomach twist, her throat tighten. The unbridled desire, the awe, the love is there, all so present at the surface.

Her fingers trace along the skin of his lower abdomen, oh so careful at the long scar. “Since...Winterfell,” he manages to say, his breathing labored. She pauses her movements to untie the laces of his breeches, fingers fumbling and taking an age longer than it should. To make up for her delay, she lowers herself, mouth pressing a kiss to his stomach, his scar. His body is humming with electricity.  _ For me, it’s all for me _ . She cannot quite wrap her mind around it, has never been able to, how she should end up with the golden lion in her bed.  _ His bed, but no matter. _

Removing his breeches as swiftly as she can, Brienne reaches for his cock, stroking gently at first, but then tightens her grip. His head is thrown back, his eyes half-lidded, but as she bends to take him in her mouth, he tells her, “No. I want to touch you.” 

She moves off of him for a moment, lying on her back beside him, so she can lift her hips and remove her pants. When she’s undressed, she rolls towards him, pressing the length of herself against his side and plants a lazy line of kisses along his jaw, beard burning her cheeks, but not caring. Again, she reaches down to stroke him, a litany of curses falling out of his mouth at her touch. His hand squeezes her breast and continues to travel down her body, fingertips stroking at her hip, before he’s nudging her legs open wider. She is slick against him and for a moment, Jaime forgets how to breathe, as Brienne lets out a low moan.

As he moves his fingers ever so slightly, stroking softly at her clit, she can already feel the pressure down to her toes, already needs the release. When it comes, her muscles shaking, her voice in his ear, she wraps herself around him as she catches her breath. “Brienne,” he murmurs and she can hear without looking at him the smile in it. The slightly crooked, cocksure smile which both infuriates her and ignites something deep in her chest. 

“Turns out you’re quite bad at letting me lead,” she teases. 

He grins. “I will not stand in your way, my lady.” Brienne pulls herself up, her head still buzzing, her limbs so light it feels as if she’s floating. She throws a leg over his, straddling him, his eyes on hers before she kisses him, his eyes on hers as she draws back. Brienne can feel the flush creep into her skin, is certain the pale expanse from her cheeks to her chest is turning red under his never-ending gaze. Pushing up onto her knees for a moment, his eyes rise with her, and Jaime exhales, a long span of breath, as she settles down on his cock, lets him push inside he r . She pauses a moment, cruelly extending the anticipation they’re both feeling, until she bear it no longer, her hips grinding against his. Jaime’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he lets out a long, low moan. 

After a moment he sits up to meet her, his mouth burning a trail across her body, his stump tucked tight against her waist. As much as he lets her set the pace, content to have Brienne overpower him, he cannot resist thrusting into her occasionally, to have her chest pressed against his and cry his name. It’s been so long neither of them will be able to last. She can feel it, between the friction and the heat, the slow, steady build almost too much to bear. When Jaime reaches down to finger her clit, she can feel her shoulders shaking with the effort. “Let go,” he tells her, her orgasm unleashing his own, and Jaime holds her tight atop him as they both ride it out together, her mouth pressed against his shoulder. “Gods, I love you,” he murmurs in her ear. She kisses him lazily, gratefully, and then sinks down in the bed, tucked against him, his arm encircling her shoulders to keep her warm.

At dawn, Brienne doesn’t rise to return to her room. She stays.  


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks more at home here than he ever did in Winterfell. His hair, which seemed to have lost its luster in the North, has regained its infamous golden hue. The sun glitters across the water and reflects off his hair, creating a halo as Jaime surfaces. A golden lion, still, but now a golden lion of Tarth.

When he announces he wants to return to the practice yard, she fights him on it. “Are you certain?” In his absence, she and Pod have taken over his duties.   


“I will still need you and Pod as my practice dummies,” he teases. “But yes, I want to.”   


“It’s a long way. You will have to ride there.”

“I’m aware. I can sit on a horse.”   


“You need to eat more.” Jaime has barely touched the food on his plate.   


“Brienne, I--”

“If you never gain your strength back, how do you plan on teaching anyone how to fight?”   


He looks over at his shoulder to where Pod stands at the edge of the hall. “How have you managed all these years with someone so infuriating ordering you around?”   


Pod bites back a smile. “I’ve had a pretty easy go of it, ser.”   


“Podrick!” Brienne exclaims at his easy defection to the other side, but there’s a smile on her face, and then all three of them are laughing.   


They travel to the practice yard in the afternoon. The boys greet Pod and Brienne easily, but a cry goes up when they see Jaime.   


“Ser Jaime, you’ve returned!”   


“Ser, don’t forget you were going to teach me your sword and scabbard trick.” 

“It’s good to have you back, ser.”

Brienne notices he has a hard time hiding his smile. He was their teacher for only a few weeks before his injury, but she’s glad to see how quickly they’ve come to admire him. Since he’s not back to his fighting weight just yet, Jaime uses Brienne and Pod as his sparring example for the day, walking them through a fight move by move, so the boys can see what decision each person is making and how they respond. “If this were a fair fight, there is no question that Ser Brienne would win against young Pod here. Sorry, Pod.” The boys are rapt. “But since it’s not, what move could you make here that would be a wrong one, my lady?” His eyes twinkle at her. She’s unable to object to losing the fight, but all the same, she’s frustrated by the imaginary loss. Jaime knows this about her and is taking entirely too much glee in putting her in this position.   


“A dirty way to win a fight,” she says to him later as they’re riding back to Evenfall.   


“I’m unsure what you mean. I always play fairly.” His tone is light and playful but his voice dips lower, making her wonder if he’s still talking about sparring.   


*

As the warm winds start to blow across the meadows of Tarth, Brienne shows him her favorite places on the island. The green winding trails which lead to waterfalls and small, peaceful ponds. The mountainous paths covered by the shade of mighty oaks and pines, keeping them cool as they climb towards a peak, the trail dropping away to reveal a stunning vista of the island. The craggy beaches where giant rock formations jut out into the Narrow Sea. She sits under one of the dark rocks now, its shade protecting her fair skin, as Jaime swims in the sparkling dark blue sea.

He looks more at home here than he ever did in Winterfell. His hair, which seemed to have lost its luster in the North, has regained its infamous golden hue. The sun glitters across the water and reflects off his hair, creating a halo as Jaime surfaces. A golden lion, still, but now a golden lion of Tarth.   


He must see her watching, because he gives her a little wave, and a grin so wide she can spot it from the shore. He emerges from the sea, lean and tanned and muscular, and she cannot take her eyes off of him, remembering when she used to watch him, used to warn herself to look away because he was not hers, would never be hers. Her stomach twists at the memory, for she is still unable to comprehend that he, Jaime, is hers. 

Jaime drops down beside her into the sand, the salty water cool as it drips onto her bare skin. He leans into her and places a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “Do you remember the song you sang in Riverrun?”   


His gaze is on the distant horizon, but he nods. “It was near Maidenpool.” He hums the tune at first, but then starts to sing softly, “Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool…” She looks over at him in surprise. He has a lovely voice, a quiet but strong tenor. Jaime tucks her under his arm as he finishes the verse and they lie on their backs in the sand. “I can’t believe you remember that, wench,” he teases, his voice lilting and light.   


“I love you, too.” Brienne says, struggling to bite back a laugh, but it bursts out, echoing off the rocks. Jaime smiles and kisses her. “Let’s go home.”   


*

It’s tempting to stay in bed together all day, so it’s become a contest to see which of them will leave first. Brienne usually loses. “I have duties,” she protests as she pulls on clothes, glancing over her shoulder at him. There’s a satisfied smile on his face which both infuriates and endears her. She leans back towards him for a kiss.    


“No,” Jaime tries to protest, keeping himself an arm’s length away, but he cannot contain his joy at teasing her. “You left bed. You broke the promise.”   


“You’re really going to deny me a kiss?” He shakes his head softly, a gentle smile playing across his lips as he sits up to kiss her.   


Sometimes he wishes he was better at telling Brienne how he feels. How being here with her was more than he ever would have imagined for himself. How much he respects her, admires her, loves her. Going through his days, his cheeks often hurt and he realizes it’s because he can’t stop smiling. He cannot stop reaching out to touch her, to hold her when he can, to kiss her, and to watch her sleep in the early hours of the morning. When he does try to express those feelings to her, she blushes and tells him she knows. “You do?” he asks, surprised.   


“Your actions have always said more about who you are than your words.” Her lips fall to the bridge of his nose, the tip of his lip, the dimple at his cheek. “It’s why you’re a good man.”   


His eyes darken. “I’m never going to be able to be the man you think I am.”   


She knows she’ll never be able to convince him, but she will spend her life trying. “But you  _ are _ . That’s part of your goodness. The not knowing.”   


His fingers tangle in her hair, his green eyes on hers. “My goodness is you.”   


“Jaime…” she kisses him softly, fingers feather light on his cheek.   


“What shall we do tomorrow, my love?” he asks, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss on each knuckle, each fingertip. She smiles, her blue eyes glittering in the candlelight. He’s content to have their lives stretched out before them, lives they would travel through together, on this great green island they call home. 

_ fin _


End file.
